Now my mother wanted to go down into Bethany which was only a short distance from where we were, so that she could see to her cousin Elizabeth. But the kindred wanted to go down first into Jerusalem and find the place where we would stay. And so we went.
People were packed together, moving more and more tightly, and coming to stops when no one could move at all, and we all sang to keep up our spirits.
When at last we reached the city, it was very hard for us to get through the gates, the crowds were so thick, and all of us little ones were tired by that time. Some of the children were crying. Some had fallen asleep in their mothers' arms. I was far too old now, I thought, to ask anyone to carry me. And so I could not see where we were going or what we were doing.
Before we were very far inside the city, word reached us that all the synagogues were full, and that the houses had taken in all of the pilgrims that they could take, and Joseph decided we would go back out to Bethany where we had kindred near whom we could camp.
We had thought to come before so many people. We had hoped to have the rites of purification in the Temple, the same rite which we'd had in the village, yes, with the ashes and the living water, and the two sprinklings, but we had wanted it again in the Temple.
Now it was clear to us that too many other people had come for the same reasons, and the Feast had drawn all the world to it.
In such a crowd it was to be expected that people broke into arguments, and some even shouted at others, and when this happened, my teeth chattered. But as far as I could see, there was no fighting. High on the walls, the soldiers walked, and I tried not to look at them. My legs ached and I was hungry. But I knew it was the same for everyone else.
After the long struggle uphill away from the city and to the village, I was so tired I wanted to save all my joy and thanks for being near Jerusalem for tomorrow.
It was still daylight, but getting on towards dark. People were camped everywhere. And my mother and father took me by the hand and we went to see to Elizabeth right away.
It was a big house, a rich house, with fine pavers and painted walls, and rich curtains over the doors, and a young man received us who had a fine manner about him that marked him at once as rich. He was dressed completely in white linen and he wore fine tooled sandals. His black hair and his beard were shining with perfumed oil. He had a bright face, and he welcomed us with his arms out.
"This is your cousin Joseph," my mother said immediately. "Your cousin Joseph is a priest, and his father Caiaphas is a priest, and his father before him was a priest. Here is our son, Jesus." She laid her hand on my shoulder. "We come to find our cousin Elizabeth of Zechariah. We've been told she's not well, and is being kept here by your goodness and we're grateful for that."
"Elizabeth is my cousin, just as you are," said the young man in a soft voice. He had quick dark eyes, and he smiled at me in an open way that made me feel at ease. "You come into the house, please. I'd offer you a place to sleep here, but you see, we have people everywhere. The house is overflowing..."
"Oh, no, we're not looking for that," Joseph said quickly to him, "only to see Elizabeth. And if we can camp outside. There, you see, there's quite a tribe of us from Nazareth and Capernaum and Cana."
"You're most welcome," he said. He beckoned for us to follow him. "You'll find Elizabeth peaceful but silent. I don't know whether or not she will know you. Don't hope for that."
I knew we were tracking the dust of the road through this house, but there was nothing to be done about it. There were pilgrims everywhere, on their blankets in every room, and people running here and there with jugs, and plenty of dust already. So all we could do was go on.
We came into a room that was as crowded as the others, but it had big latticed windows and the late sunlight was pouring in, and the air was nice and warm. Our cousin took us to a corner, where on a raised bed, propped on clean pillows, there lay Elizabeth, very wrapped up in white wool, with her eyes towards the window, and I think she was looking at the movement of the green leaves.
Out of respect, it seemed, people grew quiet, and our cousin bent down to her, and held her arm.
"Wife of Zechariah," he said gently, "there are kindred here to see you."
It was no good.
My mother bent low and kissed her and spoke to her, but there was no answer.
She lay still looking out the window. She looked far older than she had been last year. Her hands were tight and twisted at the wrists, so that they pointed sharply downward. She looked as old as our beloved Sarah. Like a withered flower ready to drop from the vine.
My mother turned to Joseph and cried against him, and our cousin Joseph shook his head, and said that everything was being done that could be done.
"She doesn't suffer, you see," he said. "She's dreaming."
My mother couldn't stop crying, so I went out with her while Joseph talked with our cousin who went over the ancestors and how they were connected, the familiar talk of the families and marriages, and my mother and I went out into the last of the afternoon light.
We found the uncles and Old Sarah gathered on the blankets, in a good campsite near the edge of the crowd of pilgrims, and not far from the well.
Several of the kindred from the house came out to us and offered us food and drink, and our cousin Joseph was with them. They were all in linen, all well spoken, and treated us kindly, more kindly maybe than they would have treated people like themselves.
The eldest of them, the father of Joseph, named Caiaphas, spoke to us and told us that we were near enough to Jerusalem that we could eat the Passover here. We must not worry that we weren't within the walls. What were the walls? We had come to Jerusalem and we were at Jerusalem and we would see the lights of the city as soon as it was dark.
The women came out and they offered us blankets, but we had our own.
Then Old Sarah and the uncles went in to see Elizabeth before it was too late. James went with them and came back.
When we were all gathered, and the rich cousins had gone down to Jerusalem for their duties in the Temple in the morning, Old Sarah said that she liked young Joseph bar Caiaphas, that he was a fine man.
"They're descendants of Zadok, and that's what matters," said Cleopas. "Not much else."
"Why are they rich?" I asked.
Everyone laughed.
"They're rich from the hides of the sacrifices which are theirs by right," said Joseph. He wasn't laughing. "And they come from rich families."
"Yes, and what else?" asked Cleopas.
"People never say good things of the rich," said Old Sarah.